To celebrate birthday with 'giving'

#CelebrateBirthdayWithGiving

It's less than a month to my birthday and I am already feeling excited. Sometimes too much of exuberance gives way to reflection and melancholy. On a quiet, winter afternoon as I was leafing through my stuff, I suddenly realised that I was going to spend the coming birthday too, in Mumbai, a city where I have lived for over a decade now.  And that brings forth the inevitable questions- the concept of time, the influence of a city on an individual's life, personal triumphs and failures, relationships and overall- the importance of giving back to the city and all those kindred spirits who helped you unconditionally. While this might not be the first time that I have pondered over these questions, I have certainly understood things better as the waves of the Arabian Sea splashed across the smouldering rocks by the Marine Drive. In an instant flash, every 'so-called' complexities in my urban life became crystal clear to me. And I walked back with a confident gait.

Nevertheless, birthdays are always special, for everyone. No wonder it reminds one about the waning hours in one's life. But it also paves the way to maturity, beauty, grace and compassion. We learn to get out of our selfish cocoon and relate with others and the universe around us. We understand that we are not alone in this struggle called life and livelihood. We realise that problems will always remain, despite the age and circumstances and the eternal truth that 'nobody's perfect.' In my journey to selfhood and independence, it was in fact my so-called greatest 'enemies' who pushed me to freedom and enlightenment. They made me realise that the greatest joy was in living out of oneself, to virtually do everything for others, to completely empty oneself of one's Self or any notion of it. Whenever I have succeeded in feeling this strongly, I have felt a surge of energy filling me up with joy and a sense of possibilities. It has also made me more aware as a person.

Now how does a normal person give? Isn't 'charity' only for the rich? I feel that's not true at all. Though this might sound cliche but we all are capable of giving in small ways, almost everyday. I try to give my maid small cash amounts as extra money as and when I can. Like so many other women, I give her clothes, books and newspapers for her children. Similarly, I try to help my old and ailing neighbour by giving company, inviting her to house parties, giving her small gifts that brings cheer to her lonely face. Their warmth and love fills my heart with gratitude and contentment.

But giving should never be confused with laziness or poverty. As we all know, it's much beyond that. It's a state of high vibration, spirit, joy and a great amount of wealth and prosperity too. The idea is to acquire wealth as much as possible for the sake of others, to improve the lives and lifestyles of people who are closely linked with us.

I hope I can truly give on my birthday and live in tandem with others.

Much love & sunshine

Meghna

B-103 restaurant- Mumbai

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Restaurant: B -103

Location: IC Colony, Borivli West, Mumbai

Recently I had been to B-103, the newly-opened pub and dining joint in western part of Mumbai. Here's my take on the place: 

Ambience: On the outside, B-103 looks like a place where intimate conversation begins over food and drink. But it was far from it. When I landed up at this newly opened restaurant on Valentine’s Day, this year, I was kind of curious about its railway station-like appeal, the reality of everyday Mumbai life. Thanks to its neon-lit signboard on a rickety lamp-post and its brick-lined exterior, the place did resemble a quaint little platform in a distant suburb.

However, as I stepped into the dimly-lit pub inside with my friend, we found it to be like a ‘cacophony’ box. It was only 7:30 pm but the restaurant was reverberating with deafening music played from the item numbers, Bollywood, mainly. We almost had to holler across the table to attempt any conversation. Repeated requests to the manager to lower down the volume fell on deaf ears.

There is a pub and a dining place, further inside. The pub has a very regular décor, with normal chairs and tables strewn across the area and a drinking place with glasses and liquor bottles. On the sides there are benches and tables. The dining place inside has a claustrophobic air, with no windows. Sofas, chairs and tables are placed all around in an orderly fashion.

Food: To start with, we ordered two glasses of Planter Punch prepared with orange juice, pineapple juice, topped with Rum. We found the presentation to be slightly tacky with just a sipper over it and a dry piece of lemon floated across. Also, it was not served in a highball glass. Nor was the drink poured over ice. The cocktail tasted a bit too tangy and bitter.

Soon enough the manager noticed our ‘exasperated’ expressions and politely told us to move to the dining section inside. And it was at least quiet there. Finally, we could start a conversation. The main course turned out to be pretty delicious.

Since it was Shivratri too, we stuck to vegetarian fare. We ordered ‘Veg Paprika’- assorted veggies tossed with paprika sauce served with pepper rice and mashed potato. And there was Gaewn Kiew Phak- Thai Green Curry vegetables with rice. Veg Paprika did have fresh exotic vegetables and the right ingredients in its sauce. Thai Green Curry too had the right amount of freshness and tanginess of kafir lime leaves and sweet, herbal taste provided by the other thai ingredients. We quite enjoyed the meal.

Overall Experience: Despite the noise, the waiters were prompt, friendly and the food was good. The restaurant must improve on its drink. The price is not too steep. Also, this could be now certainly counted as a decent food joint in IC Colony, Borivli West.

ENDS

I in I Am An Entrepreneur

Meghna Maiti

Who am I? It is perhaps the inanest question, yet it’s also not so easy to comprehend always. I am Meghna Maiti- a fairly responsible daughter, a reliable friend to many, a decent journalist and a writer, an editor and so many other identities. At different phases and circumstances, I play each of these parts and feel satisfied with the way I juggle each of these layers. But I know, I am much more than all of these, beneath all these layers of personalities. I am also a breathing presence, pulsating with life force who could go on solitary walks under the clear, blue sky and think of achieving the impossible.

I am a woman.

I am still a child for whom life is all full of beginnings and no endings. At some level I am also already a ghost who is sometimes haunted by unpleasant past, bitter experiences and setbacks that killed a part of me. I am made of the influences of numerous stars and constellation that chart my future path and decide the course of my destiny. I am somewhere a Sagittarius on the cusp.

I am a ‘mean’ person, a ‘selfish’ brute and an ‘arrogant show-off’ for some people. To some I am even ‘rebel’ and ‘radical.’ And to some others, I am a wannabe elite, a gold-digger and a witch. I have always popped all these comments with a pinch of salt.

Yet according to many people, I am an extremely honest and loyal person. But I know for sure that I am no embodiment of virtues. And I am certainly no Mother Teresa. I know that.

I am also thoughts, concepts, feelings and ideas. I am amorphous mostly, unless I am on a special date when I certainly put on an appearance.

To some people, I am the she-bull and the juggernaut. And these are mostly people in my professional network. To some others, I am the ultimate ‘lightworker,’ a healer. They are again friends whose personal issues seemed to have disappeared like magic with my entry into their lives. They swear by me all the time and call me ‘Miss Sunshine.’

I am a dude, a bro, a girl, a buddy, in a chatroom.

I am still ‘Alice in Wonderland’ for my school-friends. I am ‘lady Shakespeare’ to some school friends who still laugh at the way I insisted everyone to speak only ‘English’ in school.

To some I am fantasy. To some others I am the mystic lady. And even others say I am an enigma created of ethereal dust.

I am at times everything and at times nothing.

I have been called an African, an Ethiopian, to be most specific. I have also been called a tribal woman, for being too primitive with my instincts.

I have been called a foodie, a good cook, a devourer of all things edible, without any complaint.

I have been called a communist, a socialist, the voice of the silent majority. I have been called a true ‘bengali,’ a Calcuttan.

I have been called a confused ideologue.

I have been called a heathen.

I have even been called ballsier than men by the men.

I am bravery, courage, spunk. I am daring. I am a clown.

I am not confused any more. I am not clouded in my mind.

Slowly, I realise I am all of these. I don’t exist as parts. I am a whole person. Do not seek me as any of these individual parts. I am either a full person or neither.

I Am An Entrepreneur. I exist in relation to all the other parts.

I am constantly building, breaking and re-inventing every time.

How are you an entrepreneur? Please share your story.

ENDS

Russian Tale: Chuck & Gek

A deep, dense forest in the interior of Taiga region next to a blue mountain. There lived a man. He worked tirelessly, away from his family, away from the rest of humanity amidst snow-roofed cottages, fir-pine-birch trees and reindeer. On some days when snowstorm hit the region and blurred the distant view, he felt the icy cool weather deep inside his heart. It made him feel lonely and sad for his family. On one such evening he looked too excited. Gleefully he wrote a letter to his lovely wife inviting her to come to his place with their two five-year old sons- Chuck and Gek, who lived far away in Moscow. The scene shifts to the big, bright city Moscow, with its stone-carved old heritage buildings, modern apartments, asphalt roads, steep spire churches. The Moscow of the Soviet Union.

The story 'Chuck and Gek' penned by Arkadi Gyder begins here. We get a peek into the world of two rolly-polly, wide-eyed, mischievous kids and their adventure that begins with the arrival of a telegram from their father. The author beautifully tells a simple story of two kids. The other day I chanced upon a movie on YouTube based on this book. A glimpse of this and I was transported into a period many years ago, when I was just a eight-year old kid, trundling along some railway platform in Bengal, holding my mother's hand. I looked at everything with a sense of wonder and viewed life through a beautiful prism of books. An entire blank white slate seemed to be open to write, erase and re-write, till eternity. While browsing through books on a platform wheeler, I noticed  the Bengali translated copy of  "Chuck aar Gek." I nudged my father and soon I bagged it. Since then I have read it umpteen times, first on the bunk of our train compartment, then at home in Calcutta on a hot, summer afternoon; next on a five-hour car-ride to my granny's house, so on and so forth.

The fight between the two beautiful kids in it; their Russian indulgent mother in fur coat; the excitement of the kids when she announces the journey to their father's house, subsequently the train journey to Taiga are still vivid in my memory. The lines of the book in Bengali which describes the hill and the forest opened up a whole new world of Russia, the swampy coniferous forest, between the Tundra and Steppes of Siberia. I could figure myself somewhere by a fireside, with fur-coat clad, strange-looking people. I could feel mild breeze from a bunch of trees in the distance- pines, spruces and larches. Then there was the train journey where one of the kids got out of the closed compartment in the night. He was strolling along the corridor when a train official sweetly asked him to go back to his compartment. He went into a different compartment and started crying. On another sequence, in the next morning, the two kids looked outside at the passing scenes- acres of snow-covered lands, industrial belt with steam emanating from long chimneys, big factories. They felt very happy. It was the same with me, perhaps like every other child. With the flashes of every new place, village, empty tracts of land, small ponds, urchins through the train window, I wondered--- how they lived; how their lives were; what if I was living with them; what if my life connects with them; how is it to love in a lonesome hut in the midst of nothing; how is it to work in one such big, industrial houses in a small town and spend my entire life in it? Every scene seemed like a sea wave; like a cloud; like a short, sweet film.

In the next half of the film when Chuck and Gek reached Taiga and slept with their mother at the sledge-driver's place- as moonlight fell on the face of one of the kid's; she felt content looking at his smiling face- she realized he was seeing a nice dream. They all slept peacefully.

In simple terms, this book teaches us about innocence, simplicity, brotherhood, family values, adventure, dreams and their fulfillment. The fact that I enjoyed it so much makes me realise I am a simple, bohemian person at heart and nothing can take that away from me. I realise its good to be rooted, to stay stable and grounded. Every time I feel restless or unstable, for whatever reasons in Mumbai I shut my eyes and imagine my roots, the books that I have read, the people who have influenced my mind. These are the influences that have greatly helped me find light within me- I should embrace that and smile.

Early morning drizzle in Mumbai

It is 5:36 am in Mumbai. The darkness disappeared: the layers of dense, deep nightly silence whisked away into the ether, and a blue luminescent dawn emerged: serene and sacred, the breeze cool and moist with the intermittent drizzle, the trees fresh and green like first brush of love between a newly-wed couple. The drenched crows cawed incessantly from the telephone wires. A bunch of wings-flapping birds over the trees chirped away to glory. Away in the north, sunray streamed through the banana plantation. To the south, at the YMCA ground, morning walkers took their daily rounds to awaken their jaded minds and bodies. Beyond all this, to the east, many acres of lands were visible, dotted with slums, streaked with lush green plants and pitted with small puddles of rains. Soon the area would be abuzz with day-time activities as the morning merges into the raving sun. 

Meghna Maiti

An ode to Gabriel Garcia Marquez

You are gone, but your magic still

mesmerises us; it continues to cast its spell

into the depths of our beings;

Your loving glance,

impish smile — this demonic world now

Will starve to get enchanted

in your mystic circle;

Because you inhabited a world that was

far higher and intense

The innocence of the heart and the

romance of life were yours alone;

All the beauty of the cosmos lies in

your profound creations;

In your ‘Macondo’, in a ‘century’ of solitude,

in your maverick soul

Alternate worlds lived together — beyond

the boundaries of time-space

Continuum; one that was sinful and

ravaged and the other that was

Coloured with soap bubbles.

Once you are gone, the world realises

No one else is there now to fire imagination

with fantastical matchsticks;

This utter complacency, this mediocrity,

this shallow ideology,

This filthy display of wealth, you have left,

audacity has disappeared;

People are back to their narrow,

shelved, closed lives.

You too have retreated into yet

another miraculous space.

But we want you back with your 'timid drowned people', your 'demented dragons'

And 'the scent of bitter almonds that

reminds of unrequited love'

We can't wait to hear fabulous 'wonder'

tales of the east; we will wait and

Wait eternally for a glimpse of you in this bad, broken world.

Meghna Maiti

Translation: Harivansh Rai Bacchan

A poem by Harivansh Rai Bacchan- translated by Meghna Maiti

Beware friends! Everything is for sale here!!!

Sellers may even sell off air; infusing it in balloons!!!

Truth is sold; lies are sold; every story is being sold!!!

Spread across every damn sphere, yet water gets sold in bottles!!!

Never live like a flower;

The day you blossom….you would tear and wither.

If you want to live, live like a stone;

The day you are fed up……you will turn into a “god”.

ENDS

The real poem:

यहाँ सब कुछ बिकता है , दोस्तों रहना जरा संभाल के !!!
बेचने वाले हवा भी बेच देते है , गुब्बारों में डाल के !!!
सच बिकता है , झूट बिकता है, बिकती है हर कहानी !!!
तीन लोक में फेला है , फिर भी बिकता है बोतल में पानी!!!
कभी फूलों की तरह मत जीना,
जिस दिन खिलोगे... टूट कर बिखर्र जाओगे ।
जीना है तो पत्थर की तरह जियो;
जिस दिन तराशे गए... "खुदा" बन जाओगे ।।

--हरिवंशराय बच्चन